


Wingman

by HardPass



Series: Carried Away [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen, Awkward Inquisitor, Beards, Bets & Wagers, Crossdressing, F/M, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Krem is the best, M/M, Sassy Inquisitor, wingman Krem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardPass/pseuds/HardPass
Summary: After making a bet with Varric concerning her romantic life, the Inquisitor finds herself entirely unable to interact with Cullen. What she needs is a wingman.





	

Caroline sat on the barn roof where she had a good view of the row of Skyhold’s merchants and none of the pages knew where to disturb her. Josephine had been relentless lately in retaliation for pestering her about Blackwall. The ambassador looked innocent, but the bitch had claws. Underhanded, vicious, polite looking claws. 

She adored and resented her for it. 

If anybody spotted her on the slope of the roof, most turned a blind eye. They had to be getting used to their eccentric Inquisitor by now. At least she wasn’t drunk and at risk of accidentally toppling off and breaking her neck. She had her flask in her pocket, but even she had a sense of self-preservation. She would spend a thousand years rolling in her grave if her epitaph read anything about her drunkenly splattering herself on Skyhold’s cobbles before defeating Corypheus. 

She plucked acorns out of a bag in her lap, hefting each one in her palm and inspecting its size and shape. Good little nuts. Nice and dense. Probably inedible. She didn’t know. They made excellent ammunition. Drawing back, she launched the little nut high. It soared in a arc and seemed to be on course. It plunged right toward its target. Before it could hit its mark, one of Leliana’s crows swooped in and snatched it out of the air. 

“Damn it!” she swore, making a lewd gesture at the bird. “I was going to get it that time! Birds are fucking winning.” 

“Birds, Your Worship?” 

She half-turned toward the battlements behind her where Krem leaned against the stone wall. “You know how much I hate it when you call me that?” 

“Course I do. Annoying nicknames is a time honored tradition with the Chargers. Ask the Chief.” 

She motioned for him. “Come on, I’ll show you the game. But you don’t get to call me ‘Your Worship’ while you’re up here.” 

Eyebrows raised skeptically. 

Shrugging, she grabbed another acorn from her bag and tossed it. Another crow swooped after it, but missed. The acorn fell into the crowd, disappearing from view. Nobody reacted visibly, which was a shame. Waste of an acorn. 

“All right, I’ll bite. What’s the game?” Krem jumped the gap between the wall and the roof, scaling up the far side to the peak where she sat and lowering down next to her. 

She passed him an acorn. “Try to get the nut in the hat. See Bonnie Sims down there? You win the game if you get it into her hat. In the meantime, you get five points for hitting anyone else in the crowd. Negative two points if a bird snatches it. Bastards are crafty.” She nodded to the eave where several perched. “They’ve caught onto the game. I’m down negative six points.” 

“What do you get when you win?” 

“That’s...I mean...you’re missing the point, Krem. Are you in or are you out?” she huffed. 

“I’ll give it a try, Your Worsh--um...Inquisitor.” 

“Caroline. At least, that’s what I think my mother named me. Been so long since I’ve heard anyone use my name…” 

Rolling his eyes, he snatched another acorn, rolling the two between his hands. Eyeing the birds, squinting at the hat, he finally pitching one acorn into the air, and then the other. A crow swooped down and snatched the first, but the second completed its arc, plopping right into Bonny Sims’ hat with enough force to make her look around in confusion. 

“Right, so that’s minus two points for the first, but I think that means I won the game with the second.” 

Slitty-eyed, Caroline turned to him with folded arms. “I’m not playing any more games with you. Ever. What are you even doing over here? You’re never on this end of Skyhold. Did you come all this way just to spoil my fun?”

“Ah, no, I was actually...well...fleeing.” 

“Fleeing?” 

“It’s the Chief.” He took an acorn to fidget with. “He won’t stop  _ singing _ . It’s driving us all mad and is getting steadily worse. When are you taking him out of here with you again? We need to be rid of him for a while, just to get some peace.” 

She could scarcely process the complaint. “He’s singing? That’s not typical of him.”

“It started up earlier this week and has gotten steadily worse. We’re happy for the big lug, you know, but we can't take the singing. And humming. And whistling. That mage must have pulled out the stops or something, not that I want the specifics. Like, any of them. At all. Ever.” 

Cracking a slow grin, she put the pieces together. The revelation that her meddling had finally produced results was still new to her--that the Iron Bull and Dorian shared frequent bouts of carnal bliss. They had kept their dalliances quiet due to a bet, but she finally caught on several days prior and they admitted everything. Well, almost everything. Their relationship seemed to have progressed to something more than the occasional, sloppy roll-around. If Iron Bull was singing…

“Oh dear. He’s quite caught feelings for dear Dorian, hasn’t he?” 

“You’re taking him away soon, right? Getting out of Skyhold?” Krem pressed earnestly. 

“We have that ball in Halamshiral coming up soon.” She groaned, scrubbing a hand through her curls. “I’d rather listen to Bull sing for the next month, but we have an assassination plot to dismantle and a future to save.” 

“The Chief at a ball. Now that's something I'll hate to miss.”

She cracked a grin his direction. “I only wish I had the invitations for a larger entourage. I'm having a devil of a time narrowing it down. Imagine the scandal of me walking into the Winter Palace accompanied by a Qunari, a dwarf, and, well, either a Tevinter Mage or an elf. I can't decide which would cause more swooning. I've got Josephine petitioning to get me more invitations. I want Cassandra in there, too, to be honest. Can you imagine how much she'd hate it?”

He tossed another acorn to the birds with a little shake of his head. “If you take Dorian, there's a good chance he and the Chief will end up dancing together.”

“Oh shit. That's a really good point. I'll make it a mandatory condition of taking them.”

“You can do that?”

“I'm the Inquisitor. The fuck you think I can't do?” 

From her vantage, she saw one of Josephine's runners bobbing along the battlements from the keep toward Cullen's office. She eyed the lass critically, hoping she ducked in, delivered her message, and returned to the keep. Instead, the girl paused in the middle of the walkway and slowly turned around. 

“Shit. She's going to...ah! She spotted me.” 

The page took off at a sprint along the battlements to reach the barn. Caroline slid down the sloped roof, catching herself at the edge and lowering herself down, hoping to find the window with her toes and scuttle inside. Gravity had different ideas. She lost her grip before she found a foothold and screamed until the ground greeted her like an old friend--by smacking the wind out of her. Acorns sprinkled around her from the roof like rainfall.

“Your Worship?”

Krem’s dismount was infinitely more graceful. He jumped from the roof and rolled out of the landing, popping up with the grace of a cat. Meanwhile, she waited for her lungs to accept air again. The Charger knelt down next to her and checked the back of her head for blood.

“Just...winded,” she heaved, flopping onto her side with as much efficacy as an upended turtle. 

“Lie still. You might have hit your head.”

A shadow fell over both of them as Blackwall appeared at the edge of her vision, beard glaring her down. “What happened?”

“She's running from a page, I think?”

The beard quivered its approval. “Ah, right.” He opened his lungs. “The Inquisitor is down here!”

She didn't know if it annoyed her or pleased her that he was in cahoots with Josephine. Grabbing Krem’s shirt in her fist, she made the effort to retake her feet to run. He scooped an arm around her middle to keep her upright as her first steps proved maladroit. 

“Where to, Your Worship?”

“Cut through the kitchen. And stop calling me that.”

“If you don't mind me asking, why are you running from the pages?”

She nearly brought them both down on the steps leading through the kitchens, but regained some balance by the time they reached the top. 

“She took particular offense that I nearly succeeded in getting a pair of her smalls packaged and sent off to Blackwall, so she's exacting revenge via diplomacy. She's demanding I see to every one of our important guests personally and draft letters to many of our allies about important matters.” She swiped a bread roll from the cooling board as they skirted kitchen hands and the grumpy head cook. “As well as demanding I refresh myself on my manners and etiquette before the ball and stand for fittings with seamstresses as well as a thousand other inane little tasks. It's stuff she normally deals with to lighten my load. Sending the pages back to her with refusals has proven ineffective, so I'm trying a new tactic. If the pages can't find me, she'll  _ have _ to deal with it all herself. Problem solved.”

She devoured the roll as they passed through the corridors under the keep and up back to the main hall. It was gone by the time they reached the gardens and ducked into the shrine of Andraste where she paused to catch her breath fully.

“They'll never think to look for me here. No exits, though. We’ll have to move again soon.” 

“Seems like you're spending more energy avoiding duty than if you just dealt with what she asked.”

“It's the principle of the matter. Besides, I did it for a day. She sent summons after summons after summons. It was relentless.” She meandered up to the statue of her supposed patroness, fists planted on hips. “And don't think I've forgotten this has all been your fault,” she told it sternly. “‘Herald,’ indeed!”

Krem plopped down on one of the prayer benches, fighting a smile. “Maybe she'll teach you not to meddle.”

“Hardly. If anything, I simply have to learn to be more subtle about it.”

“No offense, Your Worship, but subtlety isn't one of your strengths.”

Joining him on the bench, she shrugged and conceded the point with a small laugh. Thankfully, bungling had gotten her this far. 

“Can I ask how the bet is going? The one about the Commander?”

Tipping her head back, she let out a long, suffering groan. She should have never made that bet with Varric. The risk of winning shouldn't have been enough. The dwarf played just as dirty as Josephine did, dangling those stakes in front of her. The catch--she had to wait for Cullen to make the first move romantically. She could not take matters into her own hands, or she lost the bet. 

“I spent today tossing acorns into an Orlesian’s hat, if that tells you anything,” she grumbled. 

“Why don't you go talk to him? Not about  _ things _ , but just make yourself present, give him opportunities.” 

She folded her arms and sulked. “Because I'm afraid I'm going to blurt something stupid every time I talk to him now. I feel like I have a mouth full of marbles and the words get crossed. This has never happened to me before. I blame Varric. He knew making that bet would mess with me. I can't believe I let him get into my head.”

“It can't be that bad.” 

“Oh, you have no idea! I'm so used to flirting with Cullen, I'm afraid I'll say something suggestive and he'll finally get the hint and make a move, but  _ I'll _ have technically invited him, so I'll lose the bet!”

He reached out and patted her arm with a little grimace. “If I didn’t know you so well, I would think you were exaggerating. Do you know what you need?” 

“New shoes?” 

“Uh...not what I had in mind.” 

“New hair! New hair fixes everything. Think I should cut my hair? Something new and dramatic. I’ll shave my head!”

“I don’t really…” 

“Cake! I need cake. Cake fixes everything. If I eat cake, I’ll be able to talk to Cullen. I’ll invite him to eat my cake. Wait. Fuck! I did it again. No cake. No inviting Cullen to eat my cake. Why is this so hard? Krem, fix me!” she wailed, clutching at his sleeve and burying her forehead against the ball of his shoulder. 

Again, he patted her awkwardly and eventually pried away from her, forcing a little bit of space between them. Caroline sniffled and moped. If Varric knew how much his wager tormented her, he would gloat forever. Was this going to be the rest of her life? Hiding under Andraste’s statue like a coward, to live a life of abject chastity because she couldn’t string two syllables together every time she faced Cullen’s majestic ruff? 

“No, Your Worship, what you need is a wingman.” 

She opened her mouth to object to the moniker, but found herself distracted by the proposal. “A wingman?” 

“Yes. Support, you know? Someone to act as a buffer. We can go talk to him together. I’ll do most of the leg work. Keep the conversation going. If you can’t talk, you stand there and look pretty until you have the confidence to jump in. If you start spouting innuendos, I’ll nudge you and shut you up.” 

“You would do that for me?”

“Sure! The Chargers always have your back, Your Worship.” 

She sat a little straighter with a feeble attempt at a smile. “Okay. Yes. Let’s do it. I can’t let Varric win this.”

“Let me go scout things out, make sure the coast is clear from the ambassador’s minions, then we’ll head over there and get you back on your game. Stay here.” 

Caroline sighed as he sneaked out. She didn't wait well. She didn't know what the historians would say about her, but she doubted they would regale audiences about her patience. As a distraction, she tried to use the reflection in the window behind Andraste to adjust her makeup, but the glass proved unreflective. She eventually eyed the statue itself for a source of entertainment. Was it blasphemous for the Herald of Andraste to deface her patroness’s own statue? Shrugging, she took her eyeliner sticks and climbed precariously up the statue until she had access to her face and began smudging red over her lips and black around her eyes. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” she chided when the statue seemed to side-eye her. “You’ve needed a makeover for a thousand years. I’m doing you a favor. Besides, you only have yourself to blame. If you hadn’t made me into your Herald, they would never want me for anything, and I wouldn’t be hiding out in here.” She leaned back to view her work. “I don’t know. Red may not be your color, honey.” 

The door to the chapel opened behind her. She nearly fell off of the statue, kicking aside a few candles in her bungled dismount. If it was one of Josie’s pages, she wasn’t above punching them in order to make her escape. She whipped around, eye pencils scattering around the offering table at the statue’s feet. 

“Just me,” Krem announced, waddling in with heaping arms of clothes and gear. He peeked around his load, starting at her guilty face and traveling to the statue behind her. “I wonder what Mother Gisele will say.” 

“That I have a steady hand and talent for nuance?” 

“‘Nuance.’ That’s one word for it,” he muttered, dropping his stuff on a bench. 

“What’s all that for.” 

“Pages are out in force. I sent a few on goose chases to the dungeons and guard towers. Nevertheless, there’s going to be no easy way to get you across Skyhold, and it’s only a matter of time before one checks in here.” 

She threw up her hands. “I’m going to have to flee Skyhold, aren’t I?” 

He began sifting through the bundle he brought. “Not necessarily. I thought we could take an easier route. How do you feel about going incognito?” 

Head cocked, she demurred, “I’m listening.” 

“I happen to have some talent for...well...I suppose ‘disguise’ would be one word for it. I’m going to help you pass. The Inquisitor can’t walk anywhere without being recognized, so you’ll become someone else.”

Catching on, she snapped her fingers. “Brilliant, Krem!” 

He bowed shortly. “These are all my things. I’m taller than you, but we can cuff anything that’s too long. First thing, you need to wipe off your makeup, then I’ll show you how to bind.” 

Caroline threw herself into the transformation with nothing short of gusto. She washed the liner from her eyes and set to braiding her curls against her scalp so they were easily concealed under the beaten cap Krem brought for her. He went over proper binding techniques to hide her assets up front and then began helping her dress, making little adjustments to each garment so it fell naturally. 

“Shouldn’t it be loose? It’s suppose to hide my figure,” she argued when he insisted on tucking her shirt in. 

“It’s suppose to look like your figure has nothing to hide. Trust me. Besides, as long as you get the walk down, nobody will question it.” 

“Walk. Right. Sure. How do I do that?” 

He circled around her, eyeing each detail critically. Passing convincingly used to be a matter of life or death during his days in the Tevinter army, so she trusted his judgement. He fussed over the position of her belt and the way his trousers fell over her legs for a moment, then did another circle, squinting.

“Walking is a matter of confidence. Like, how you, in particular, walk normally, you own your femininity. The concept is the same, just on the other side of the coin. You need to exaggerate nothing, you just need to walk like you mean it.” 

Having watched men walk her entire life--sometimes practically for sport--she felt like she should be able to visualize a few examples to emulate. Closing her eyes for a moment, she conjured images of men she associated with that quiet confidence she was searching for. She settled on Cullen. She ogled him the most frequently, especially if he happened to be walking away from her. She only lamented that she couldn’t pull off that nice of a rear.

Standing, she took a turn around the chapel, shoulders back, resisting her typical gait. “Am I nailing this, or am I nailing this?” 

“Very good, Your Worship. Ready for the final touches, in case anyone doesn’t buy it?” 

“What did you have in mind.” 

He held out a strip of...fur? Hair? Something. She raised skeptical eyebrows. 

“We’re going to beard you.” 

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Where the devil did you get a  _ beard _ ? Did you just have that lying around? Do you use it? Why have I never seen this beard? How do I get it on my face? Does it have a name?”

“I thought you’d like it.” 

“Did you snatch it off Blackwall?” 

“Maker, no. It’s hair I shaved off of the Chief’s ass.” 

“You two have a very unique relationship,” she declared primly, and reached for the beard to test it out on her face. 

Laughing, Krem made her sit while he glued it into place. It wasn’t a large or particularly bushy beard, but it was nicely kept. He had to swat her fingers away as she tried to reach up and pet it while he glued it down, risking shoving it askew. Whining, she sat on her hands. It was her very first beard. She wanted to explore her newly hairy face to its fullest extent. 

“You have to let it set or you’ll get it crooked,” he chided. 

“I’m trying, I swear.” 

“Here, something to distract you with.” He pressed a ball of socks into her hand. 

“What’s this?” 

“What do you think it is? To complete the illusion.” 

Caroline inspected the socks suspiciously for a minute before finally gasping, “Do these go in my pants?” 

His grin widened. 

“Oh my god! You’re giving me dick!” 

“Um…yes, I guess I am.” 

“Best. Dick. Ever!” She stuffed it down into her smalls, plucking and adjusting so the bare hint of an outline could be seen. “I don’t think a guy has ever given me my own dick before. Well, I guess it’s the same concept. I’m still only borrowing it and giving it back when I’m done with it,” she mused, stroking her beard. 

“I think you’re done. Are you ready to go see if it works?” 

“I wonder if I can talk to Josephine about getting you a bonus. Wingman bonus. If it’s not a thing, I’m making it a thing. You should at least get a badge and ceremony. And cake! I can’t invite Cullen to eat my cake, I can at least invite you! It’s only fair after you let me borrow some dick.” 

He looked caught on his response, cheeks reddening slightly and mouth gaping, but she didn’t leave him to flounder long. She grabbed his hand and charged out of the chapel. Outside, she released him so she could square herself up. She tugged her shirt into place, threw back her shoulders, and strutted out like she owned Skyhold--which she did, but in a different way. Krem scurried to keep up, still overcoming a furious bout of blushing. 

She encountered one of Josephine’s pages almost immediately, but merely tipped her hat at the girl as she scoured the garden for the Inquisitor. The runner ignored her, focused entirely on her mission. It appeared Josephine had them all running ragged in search of their errant leader. It was all she could do not to burst out in high pitched giggles and ruin the illusion. 

Another page hurried past her on the battlements, sparing her no more than a quick glance. When he was gone, she pumped her fist and did a little victory dance. “This is amazing! I can walk across Skyhold without people bowing or calling me ‘Your Worship’ or asking if I have time to do one little extra thing while I’m out saving the world. I should have done this ages ago.” 

“My pleasure, Your Worship.” 

They passed one of the lookouts on the wall. Caroline saluted them and cried, “Ho, gentlemen! Good work! ‘Carrie’ on! Speaking of, Krem, I do wish you would call me Carrie, not ‘Your Worship.’ Especially when I’m incognito. Or perhaps I need a name. My beard and I both. While in this guise, you will henceforth know me as Guillermo Copperbottom! And this is my sidekick, Questly.” She gestured grandly to the hair on her chin. 

“Okay then.” 

“Looking sharp, fellas!” she called out to the next lookout they passed. 

“Maybe call a little less attention to yourself,” Krem suggested as the soldiers stared. 

“Weren’t we just talking about how subtlety escapes me?” 

“Speaking of, remember, when we get there, let me do most of the talking.” 

They didn’t have far to go before they reached the tower above the gatehouse. She let herself in without knocking. Cullen stood over his desk, scribbling something in a ledger. Her stomach did a little, nervous flip. Despite her confident walk across Skyhold, her tongue turned gummy in her mouth and coherent thought fled her brain. What was she supposed to say? What if she messed it up? What if he didn’t like Questly?

He glanced up from his ledger. “Oh, Krem, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

His eyes flicked between them. “Is there something I can do for you?” 

Caroline burst out a shrill, hysterical giggle. She clamped a hand over her mouth. The beard tickled her palm. It made her laugh harder. 

Cullen’s eyebrows raised a fraction. “Something the matter?” 

“Forgive us, sir. She’s giddy from passing across Skyhold unrecognized. It’s Caroline, don’t you see?” 

His eyes popped wide. “Maker’s breath, it is you, isn’t it! But why...ah. Josephine’s people have been hunting you all day. Interesting solution.” 

“I named my beard,” she blurted. “His name is Questly.” She wasn’t sure the syllables all came out in proper order. She might have honestly only said,  _ “Beard. Beard beard beard. Beard beard beard beard beard.”  _ It was hard to tell. 

“That’s...nice?” 

Krem jumped back in before she could do any damage. “She needed a new place to hide out. I figure they’ve all searched your office plenty of times over, that they might not come back for a while. Do you mind, sir?” 

Fighting a smile, he gave a little nod. “Whatever you need.” 

Turning to her, the Charger made to grab at her beard, so she snatched his wrists away. “No! You can’t steal Questly. I love him.” 

Leaning in close, he whispered, “You need Cullen to remember he’s attracted to you, which he isn’t going to do with you wearing a beard. Trust me.” 

Scowling, she let him peel the beard away. Bits of glue stuck to her face, but Krem came prepared with a wet cloth with a sweet smelling oil on it. The oil took off the glue and left her skin soft and scented. Krem really thought of everything. 

“Much better.” Cullen nodded his approval. “I imagine you have Josephine positively stumped. It’s not often she’s thwarted.” 

She smiled, trying to conjure a coherent reply, but Varric’s smug face swam in front of her vision. Flirting wasn’t banned due to their bet, but she couldn’t invite him on. Caroline never learned how to do anything passively. Gulping, she tried to come up with a sentence that was cordial and straightforward, but her brain shorted and she couldn’t remember what words were. 

“I...uh...so I...yeah.” 

Krem jumped in helpfully. “I just hope the Ambassador doesn’t find out I aided and abetted. I do like being paid, and she sort of has control over all of that.” 

“Well, thankfully you have the Inquisitor herself on your side.” 

“I’m not sure even that will be enough, all due respect.” 

She giggled nervously. Why wouldn’t her words work? She finally scraped together her resolve and put together a coherent statement to join the conversation. “I really owe Krem. I’ve told him I’m going to make him a cake.” Cake was safe. Everybody loved cake. “You’re invited, of course. I’d love for you to eat my cake.” 

Krem motioned for her to shut up. 

“Oh. I...thank you? Did you mean that…? Never mind,” Cullen stammered. 

Of course he chose today to  _ finally _ catch onto her innuendos. This was why she wasn’t allowed to talk. 

Krem stepped in for damage control, casting her a meaningful look that could only be read as a warning to stop acting like a lunatic. “Carrie and I were just talking about the ball coming up at the Winter Palace. She thinks it would be funny to show up accompanied by a Qunari, a dwarf, and an elf.” 

“You would,” he laughed. “I confess, I would love to see their faces, myself. Don’t tell Josephine I said that, though. She’d lynch me if she thought I was in support of causing a scandal.”  

Caroline also laughed, a little too loud and hard for what was necessary. Both men looked at her like she had lost it. Which she had. No doubt about it. She tried to follow up with some reasoning, but garbled out something unintelligible before falling silent. Krem hooked his fingers into his belt, likely to keep from smacking himself in the forehead. 

“Are you all right?” Cullen asked, eyeing her suspiciously. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course she is.” He moved on before they could dwell on the topic. “So don’t tell Josephine this, but I talked her into taking Dorian instead of Sera. I wouldn’t fancy attending the big to-do myself, but it might actually be worth it for the swooning if a Tevinter mage swings that big Qunari around their overly polished dance floor.”  

“Oh, they wouldn’t, would they?” 

“Maybe not without some encouragement, but who better to talk them into it than our Inquisitor? She could talk a druffalo out of its own skin.” 

She played it safe and kept her lips firmly sealed, only bothering to smile and nod. 

Cullen scratched his stubble then rubbed the back of his neck. “If I have to be trapped at that asinine party all evening, it would be good to get  _ some _ entertainment out of it. It will be scandal enough if the Inquisitor’s unusual entourage stand quietly out of the way. Imagine the talk when they do more,” he mused, eyes sparkling in a way she didn’t often see. 

It was nice to see him relaxed. Smiling, even. Ever since he admitted to being off lyrium, all she could focus on were the lines around his eyes and the amount of effort he put into his work to keep himself distracted. He might have even gotten some sleep lately. The ever-present circles under his eyes didn’t seem so dark. Did that mean he was simply having a good day, or had someone assisted? A woman, perhaps? A woman not bound by Varric’s stupid bet into not making a move. What if someone snatched him up while she was waiting for him to get the hint. Someone prettier. And taller. 

“That bitch.” 

They both looked to her, startled. “Who?” Cullen asked.

Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Nevermind that. You never answered me. Don’t you think he ought to?” Krem’s determination to steer the conversation was nothing short of admirable. 

“Don’t I think what?” 

She blinked, trying to run back the conversation that had clearly gone on without her. She still had visions of a tall, pretty woman seducing Cullen out from under her, and the desire to punch her--whether she existed or not. 

Her wingman did his best to help her recover. “I was just saying how I’d ask you to dance myself, but since I can’t be there, it’s only fair the Commander owes you one.” 

She sucked in a startled breath. “What? You can’t suggest he do that. It violates--” 

“What?” he interrupted pointedly before she could blurt something incriminating. “It’s just a dance. Nothing more.” 

She squinted, thinking over the details of the bet. Her friends were forbidden from telling Cullen to make a move. Did this count? No, the bet was safe. A dance was a far cry from a kiss. Or, really, maybe it was a short cry. It would at least get them in proximity with each other. Face-to-face. Music. Intimacy. All without violating the bet’s parameters. Maker’s balls, but Krem was a genius. 

“Yes, I love dancing! I dance all the time. My favorite thing to do. Ever.” Did she know how to dance? It had been a while. It didn’t matter. She’d wing it. “Cullen, you will dance with me, won’t you?” 

He looked trapped, face reddening as he shied away from them both. “Oh. Well. I’m not much of a dancer…” 

“Nonsense! Dancing is all about footwork, and I’ve seen you train in the yard,” Krem pressed. 

“But I…” 

“It’s all settled then. After the Inquisitor saves the Empress and all of Thedas, she deserves a nice dance. You’ll see to it she’s properly taken care of, won’t you, Commander?” 

“Well...I…” 

“Good man.” 

Krem swung an arm around her shoulders and towed her back toward the door. “Now let’s go before somebody finds us in here.” 

“Can I put Questly back on?” 

“I’m concerned that you’re getting too attached now that you’ve named it. Remember your walk.” 

She ceased mincing and eased back into a swagger as they abandoned Cullen to his spluttering. As soon as they were back on the battlements and out of earshot, it was all she could do to keep from squealing and jumping up and down on Krem. She settled for punching his arm. She had to wait for another of Josephine’s pages to hurry by before she could react any more visibly. 

“You were right, Your Worship. I didn’t realize it was going to be  _ that  _ bad.” 

“Yes, but you were brilliant! You scored me a dance. I mean, I’ll probably have to force him to go through with it, but nevertheless, it doesn’t break the bet.” 

“You might need more practice talking in full sentences. You turned into a wreck back there, no disrespect intended, Your Worship. Is it really impossible to act normally? Wait. Don’t answer that. I know your definition of ‘normal.’” 

She approached the wall overlooking the dropoff over the side of Skyhold. “It’s all Varric’s fault.” 

He fought a grin. 

“Don’t you smile. It’s not funny. There’s too much at stake if I lose his wager, and clearly you saw what I’m working with back there!” 

“I know. Apologies.” He struggled to compose himself. 

“I really owe you, though. You were right. I needed a wingman.”

“Happy to assist the Inquisitor.”

“Excuse me.” 

They both turned as another of Josephine's harried runners approached with desperation in her eyes. The girl looked like she had run the full length of Skyhold a dozen times over. Sweat stuck her hair to her face and soaked through her clothes. She approached pleadingly, hands outstretched like a beggar.

Caroline assumed she had been found out. She knew she should have put Questly back on her face! She shot Krem an accusatory look, but the young man ignored her to fix his attention on the sweaty little page. 

“What can we do for you?”

“Have you seen the Inquisitor? I need to find her. Lady Josephine is having a fit that she's disappeared.”

Caroline fought not to giggle insanely and jerked her thumb toward the tower over the gate. “Hiding under Cullen's desk.” 

“Oh, Maker, thank you!”

As the girl dashed off to harass Cullen, Caroline cocked her head and tapped her chin. “Krem, would you mind terribly if I had you run an errand for me?”

“Anything you need, Your Worship.”

“But first, I might get on my knees and plead with you to stop calling me that.”

“You really hate it that much?”

“I'd rather be called ‘Her Astute Flatulence’ than 'Your Worship.’ I hate the idea of being worshipped. It gives me the creeps,” she confessed. “Call me Carrie. Call me Inquisitor. Call me for drinks before noon. Just please, by Andraste’s perky tits, stop calling me ‘Your Worship.’ Especially if you're going to be my wingman. We can't be friends if you won't call me something less formal.”

Sighing, he finally acquiesced. “Fine. I will start calling you ‘Her Astute Flatulence.’”

“Much better. Thank you. Now onto the real errand I want you to run. Dash down to Blackwall, if you would, and tell him that if he gives Josephine a little kiss, I will answer every single summons she sends to me to me for a month. Every. Single. One. If he doesn't, this will be a daily battle.”

“Maker forbid the day you fix your meddling eye onto me.”

“Don't think I haven't. You're fancy on Maryden, aren't you?” she mused. 

He bowed quickly and scuttled backward. “I will deliver your message at once, Her Astute Flatulence. Enjoy your afternoon in disguise.”

“And bring me Questly back when you're done! I want to try communicating with Blackwall myself in beard!” she shouted after him. 

Caroline remained put as she watched the runners continue to scurry to and fro. She felt bad for them, but she refused to yield to Josephine's terror tactics. Not without getting something out of it, at least. 

“Oi! Arseface!” 

She half-turned as Sera stomped up to her. “How'd you know it was me?”

“You might have flattened your tits, but you still look like you. Now don't change the subject. The curriers hate you. They hate Josephine. Your feud is coming out on their backs and they're tired and grumpy. So knock it off if you don't want an extra glob of snot in your soup,” she declared imperiously. 

“Go talk to Blackwall. I gave him an ultimatum. It's in his hands now.”

She let out a scream of frustration. “You aren't supposed to be like this! You care about  _ people _ . Well,  _ people _ are suffering because you're being a snooty little twat. Fix it. I don't care how!”

She spread her hands. “Not my call.” 

“You make an ugly boy,” she declared, then cupped her hands to her mouth and bellowed, “ _ I found the Inquisitor!”  _

“You shut your face, Sera, and I won't make you go to the ball in Halamshiral,” she offered flatly. 

“I...you...what?”

“I was going to make you go, Red Jenny presence and all, but I'll swap you out if you shut up and get lost.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Your choice.”

She eyed her critically. “Blackwall can end this, you say?” 

“Yep.”

“I'll go make him do it. By the way, you suck and I hate you. You still make an ugly boy.”

“I love you, Sera!” 

She flipped her off and trudged away. 

Unfortunately, Caroline was also forced to make herself scarce as those within earshot hurtled to the battlements in search of their wayward Inquisitor. Pulling her hat low over her eyes, she headed back toward the keep at a leisurely strut. All-in-all, it wasn't a bad resolution to her Josephine problem. She'd made progress with her meddling and even managed to get her own love life back on track. She really would bake Krem that cake.

Best. Wingman. Ever. 


End file.
